I'll Be Fine
by SoManyAnchors
Summary: Baby Joan Summers is not a happy camper. For three reasons specifically: her new step-mother is a living, breathing nightmare, her step-brother is a little too hands-y for her liking, and she now lives in a town where the sky constantly cries its eyes out. But Baby fails to realize that with every misfortune, comes a miracle.
1. Prologue - Misfortunes & Miracles

**|Baby|**

When you're moving close to a beach, it usually means: twenty-four seven vacation weather, relaxation and _fun. _But I can tell you, right here and now, three reasons I _won't _like living in Forks, Washington.

Number one: the biggest bitch of all time has _officially_ become my step-mother.

Number two: my two-faced, perverted jerk of a step-brother will be taking the room next to mine in our new home. Believe me, I'm _not _excited to be living next to the prep-jock man-whore.

Number three: this northern armpit of a place that my father has moved us to, all because of his job transfer, is located under a perpetual rain cloud. It's utterly ridiculous, because it cancels out the fact that we're a mere _ten minutes _from a beach.

This is Baby Joan Summers speaking, preferably _Joan Summers - _because 'Baby' is just an overly-unoriginal and embarrassing name. If I had the choice to turn back time, I would have definitely objected to it... But, then again, if I could _actually _turn back time I wish I could have done something for my dead mother.

Like make her proud, or something, even if I couldn't save her. Maybe _be _like her - like the popular cheerleader she was, or become the lead of the school musical, or even prom queen...

But, who am I kidding? I'm the quiet, shy and most uninvolved girl there is at school, and I've never really bothered with taking any interest in clubs and/or organizations that's just based on your social standing. The _only _thing that makes me feel alive is dancing. It doesn't matter the style - krump, popping, new jazz, breaking or contemporary - any of it causes a surge throughout my body and it actually makes me feel _alive. _Like I _am _alive.

So, as I stand just a few feet from the bottom step of my new home, cursing about how fucked up my life is, and _going _to be, I fail to notice a handsome boy with russet skin running up the two-lane street and disappearing into the woods.

I also fail to notice that with every misfortune, comes a miracle.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: This is just a test run for this story. :) I'd like some feedback, just to see how y'all respond to this little plot idea.

Until the next chapter!

-Dev.

P.S. I picture AJ Michalka as Baby. Just to help to give you a visual. :)


	2. Chapter 1 - Not My Idea of 'Fun'

**|Baby|**

I stand in my bedroom, staring around at the sad, empty space.

Pure white walls beg for decoration and posters. The puttied holes where my pictures and mirror used to hang remind me of Swiss cheese. Little indentions can be seen in the carpet where my furniture once sat. Happily covered in a sufficient amount of dust, books, and clothing.

This space has been my refuge, my home. I don't want to leave.

But I don't have a choice. At sixteen, I'm a minor. So, my choices don't count.

I square my shoulders, telling myself that I'm not going to cry, and say a silent farewell to a magnificent room. A room that has seen numerous of slumber parties, me dancing in front of the mirror, singing into a hairbrush, and the place where I had my first kiss with the boy next door. The kiss wasn't my idea.

My room was also the first place a boy ended up with my handprint on the side of his face.

I trudge down the hall to the bare living room; my sneakers squeaking on the terra-cotta tile with every step I take. I swear my breathing echoes around me. The space feels ten times bigger without our ginormous couches and stone coffee table. A cave with skylights and built-in shelving.

I groan, wishing that this can be a bad dream. That we've come home to find our house has been robbed, everything taken, right down to the last dust bunny. But this _isn't _a dream, and we _haven't _been robbed.

My dad comes to stand next to me, his hazel eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I guess this is it, punky," Dad informs me sadly, slinging an arm over my shoulders and drawing me closer to his side.

"Yeah, it is," I agree forlornly, resting my head on my dad's shoulder, crossing my arms.

After a suspended moment of deafening silence, my dad moves wordlessly to the front door. With one, last longing glance over my shoulder, I reluctantly follow in his footsteps. The sound of the front door clicking closed behind me is so final, ominous. We step off the porch and every fiber in my being wants to protest. This is my _home. _

I want to chain myself to the railing of the front porch, with a sign saying: _Hell no, I won't go!_

"This is gonna be fun, kiddo; a great adventure," Dad assures me.

And yet, I can't help but to disagree. Hiking up a volcano, dog sledding, swimming with sharks — _those _are adventures. This move _isn't _my idea of 'fun.'

I shove my hands in the pocket of my jean shorts and follow Dad down the front path, the one that we slaved over to lay the pavers perfectly last summer. If I knew that we were going to end up selling our home, then it wouldn't have been a priority.

I eye the edge of our driveway with unconcealed hatred. Two gigantic moving vans wait, packed to the point of exploding. I want to cry at seeing my blue Mini Cooper hitched up to the back of the first van, a prisoner.

"Hey, honey, we're all set," Dad informs Tess, grinning, while meeting his newly wedded wife halfway down the drive.

"Great!" Tess beams, so much so that I begin to think her hazel eyes may pop out of their sockets. "I'm _so _excited to get this show on the road!"

The one thing you have to know about Tess, is that she puts an emphasis on practically everything she says; no matter what she's talking about. I've wanted to slap her in the face with a shovel a few times because of it.

"Baby, I'll be riding with the hubby. Are _you _alright with that?"

"Sure," I lie, cringing at my father's newly acquired nickname. Then she proceeds to plant a kiss on him.

I race for the passenger side door of the other orange monster and yank it open, pulling myself up into the seat and slamming the door shut. I'm convinced that if I stand there any longer to witness the two adults swapping spit, I may start bleeding from my eyes.

"Your dog has issues," Owen, my new _step_brother, announces from the driver's seat.

I send him a pointed glare as I peer down at Kirk, my beloved bloodhound situated between us on the vinyl flooring, and pat him on the head. "He just has a sensitive tummy, is all. He can't help it," I coo in his defense. He tends to be a _little _gassy.

"We're going to pass out from the fumes."

"As long as I don't have to listen to _you_..."

"Shut up," Owen growls. _Seems I hit a nerve._

"Make me."

I cross my arms and prop my feet up on the dashboard, turning my attention back out of the passenger side window. Of course, I cringe at seeing Tess and Dad still tongue dueling at the end of the driveway.

"Ugh."

"What?" Owen demands, ever the curious little kitten. _Does he not know that curiosity is the leading death of cats?_

"That," I answer grimly, pointing to our parents. Owen's green eyes follow in the direction I'm pointing in, and I watch in mild amusement as his face scrunches up in disgust.

"I hope that we don't have to see them do that at every rest stop," he groans. "Because I'm okay with holding my pee."

Despite my personal belief that Owen Haggerty is the enemy, I can't help but snort derisively.

_At least we can agree on _something.

* * *

><p>The only bright spot during this otherwise dismal drive, thus far, is that Owen and I enjoy the same music. After some mindless squabbling, we <em>finally <em>agreed on a rock station that plays a mix of the classics and new favorites. After that, the two of us went back to ignoring each other's very existence; which I prefer we do, anyway.

However, about two-and-a-half hours in, Kirk starts whining and pawing at the door handle.

"Can't he wait?" Owen demands, sighing.

I eye my dog uncertainly, gnawing on my lower lip. "Uh, I'm not sure if I want to find out."

"Fine," he grumbles, turning on the right signal as he switches lanes. "There's a rest area just up ahead."

I have to force Kirk to sit. He's being stubborn, and ends up sitting - not next to me like I want - _on _me. Kirk is a big boy. Not fat, per se, just big-boned, wrinkled, and lots of muscle. He weighed in at one-hundred and ten pounds last time he was at the vet. So it isn't like I can use my superior size to move him. Not when I weigh a measly twenty pounds more.

"Do you think we should let my dad and Tess know we're stopping?"

Owen chuckles, and I cast him a perculiar look. "I hate to tell you this, but we passed them," he informs me matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"Mom and Reid are way behind us."

"_How_?"

Owen drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the song on the radio. "Your dad is driving in the slow lane because - and this is just my opinion - he's occupied with something _other _than the GPS."

Almost instantly, my brain is bombarded with perverse mental images of my father and his new wife trying to get freaky in the moving truck... _Ick. _The color drains from my face as I shake my head, as if the very action will dispel any of those scarring thoughts. "Aren't they supposed to be responsible adults?"

"I guess it's a good thing we're past an impressionable stage of youth," Owen comments, flinching.

"We should've insisted that they take honeymoon _before_ the move," I grumble, raking my fingers through my blonde waves. "Now they'll probably be going at it for the next few weeks."

"_Ew," _Owen groans, his face scrunching up in disgust.

"Mmm," I murmur in agreement. "They're probably in some sort of lust stage."

"How d'you figure?" Owen wonders aloud, seemingly genuinely curious. Are we _actually _having a civilized conversation? _Le gasp!_

"I'm no expert," I begin in a methodical voice, leaning back against the seat, trying to peer over at Owen without Kirk obstructing my view. "I mean, I read an article in Biology that claims the first few months of a physical relationship is..._intense."_ I refuse to go any farther into detail. Besides, I'm sure Owen gets the gist of what I'm insinuating.

"Ah, hormones."

"Yep."

"Like mating season."

"Don't say that."

"Our parents are going to be screwing like rabbits."

"_Stop_!" I moan, covering my ears in a vain attempt to block him out.

"Prude."

"Pervert."

I guess some things never change.

* * *

><p><strong>A\N<strong>: Hehe. I laughed a lot while writing this chapter.

I don't really have a lot to say this time around... Shocker, huh? Lol. Anyways, thanks so much for the reviews on this story thus far! :) As always, they serve to feed my muse and brighten my day!

So, keep the encouraging words coming, please!

Until the next chapter,

-Dev.


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